


Plain Sailing

by enthugger



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of sex but no actual sex, Miscommunication, Morning After, Secret Relationship, Self-Esteem Issues, Shame, these boys are idiots but they try really hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 00:54:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19307350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enthugger/pseuds/enthugger
Summary: When it had started – an equally surprising, fumbling, accidental thing full of lips and hands on his face and breath against his throat – it hadn’t seemed like there was anything that needed to be defined and so they hadn’t. And in the weeks that followed, there seemed to be some sort of unspoken agreement between them to keep it quiet. And it made sense, because neither of them fully understood exactly what it was that was happening. There wasn’t a word or a label strong enough for it. Like art, because in a way that’s what this was: art, there were some things Grantaire couldn’t share with even the closest of his friends, things that might be ruined the moment he tried to explain them out of his brain.Enjolras was one of those things. He was a thing that Grantaire woke up thinking about every morning and the last thought he had before he went to sleep. Enjolras was a secret that he’d assumed he would have no problem keeping all to himself. It hadn’t occurred to him until recently that Enjolras’s reason for secrecy may have been different from his own





	Plain Sailing

**Author's Note:**

> For Emily, the queen of secret relationship aus, creative light of my life, and a good good bean.
> 
> Also, the amazing [deboracabral](https://deboracabral.tumblr.com) did some [ART](https://deboracabral.tumblr.com/post/185804353423/williamvapespeare-tries-to-kill-me-with) for this and I literally died - PLEASE check it out it's beautiful and so perfect!!

There’s a line of sunlight filtering through a gap in the curtains, painting stripes of early morning gold across the duvet and the soft curves of Enjolras’s bare shoulders. Enjolras’s arm is wrapped around his waist and somehow, Grantaire feels lighter than he has in weeks. 

Then reality kicks in. 

He’s naked. He’s naked in Enjolras’s bed and it’s late enough in the morning that he’s woken up of his own accord. He vaguely remembers worrying about this the night before, the whole confusion and weird hints of shame at the idea of Enjolras feeling obligated to put them in a position where they might be found out. But those memories are vague purely because the things that happened after them are far more important: things like Enjolras’s long fingers around his throat, and blunt nails digging into his shoulder blades, and murmuring something like awe into the curve of Enjolras’s neck. 

And now, with Enjolras curled around him, their feet tangled together, bare legs pressed against each other in perfectly symmetrical ‘C’ shapes, whatever it is was perfect, before he started thinking - overthinking, Joly’s voice corrects gently from somewhere in his brain. Now it just feels suffocating. 

Enjolras still seems to be asleep, but Grantaire can’t tell for sure, from his current position curled up in Enjolras’s fucking arms. He still can’t believe he’s been this stupid. There’s no way for Grantaire to slip out of bed without waking him, he’ll just have to wait it out and face Enjolras’s annoyance (at least, he hopes it’s not anger) at the situation when it happens. 

The spiral of Grantaire’s thoughts is interrupted by a knock on the door and he freezes, as if caught in the act. 

Beside him, Enjolras doesn’t seem quite as panicked. He groans quietly into Grantaire’s shoulder and curls himself more closely around him, his fingers tightening where they rest against Grantaire’s hip. Grantaire shakes him slightly, feeling like an intruder alerting the very person he’s attempting to rob. 

There’s another knock; someone calls Enjolras’s name.

“Combeferre,” is Enjolras’s first fully-conscious word, muttered with something like annoyance in a breath that ghosts against Grantaire’s skin.

Grantaire resists the urge to put a hand on the back of his head, to stroke his hair, to utilize all the little ways he’s learned over the past few weeks to keep Enjolras in bed against him for longer than either of them should.

Of course, it’s too good to last.

Enjorlas rolls away with a visible effort, stumbles slightly as he climbs out of bed and walks across the room to get dressed. Grantaire watches as the softness of his shoulders and his chest disappear underneath his shirt. He pulls a pair of sweatpants over the hints of fingerprint-shaped bruises on his hips. Grantaire’s fingerprints, he thinks with a barely suppressed moan as flops back against the pillows. 

Thankfully, Enjolras hasn’t seemed to notice that Grantaire has practically woken up on the edge of panic. He runs a hand through his hair and looks back at Grantaire. For a moment, his face seems to soften almost imperceptibly, and Grantaire has to stop himself from looking away. Enjolras has on an expression that Grantaire now recognizes as sincerity, a bold kind of earnestness made up entirely of things that Grantaire doesn’t deserve: passion and belief. After a moment, Enjolras blinks, turns away.

“Stay here,” he says softly – afraid of being overheard, Grantaire assumes. It makes sense. “I’ll be right back.” Enjolras leaves the bedroom, closing the door carefully behind him and the room itself seems to deflate quietly in his absence. Grantaire hears the lull of voices disappear down the hall and he rolls over to hide his face in pillows. 

Everything around him smells like Enjolras. He feels Enjolras everywhere he goes now, in the absence of him, or the anticipation. It’s a surprising comfort, not having to be alone in his own space anymore when he doesn’t want to, or in his own head. 

It feels, most of the time, like he’s been pulled out of the current of himself and into the temporary safety of everything that is Enjolras. The way he smiles against kisses, or how he likes when Grantaire tucks his hair behind his ear before kissing his neck, or when he rests in his hand in the small of Grantaire’s back, heavy and comforting. Enjolras seems almost as surprised as he does by every new piece of intimacy between them. And that, Grantaire thinks, is what scares him more than anything.

When it had started – an equally surprising, fumbling, accidental thing full of lips and hands on his face and breath against his throat – it hadn’t seemed like there was anything that needed to be defined and so they hadn’t. And in the weeks that followed, there seemed to be some sort of unspoken agreement between them to keep it quiet. And it made sense, because neither of them fully understood exactly what it was that was happening. There wasn’t a word or a label strong enough for it. Like art, because in a way that’s what this was: art, there were some things Grantaire couldn’t share with even the closest of his friends, things that might be ruined the moment he tried to explain them out of his brain.

Enjolras was one of those things. He was a thing that Grantaire woke up thinking about every morning and the last thought he had before he went to sleep. Enjolras was a secret that he’d assumed he would have no problem keeping all to himself.

It hadn’t occurred to him until recently that Enjolras’s reason for secrecy may have been different than his own. And now, curled into the corner of Enjolras’s bed like a secret to be hidden away, he doesn’t know why he never realized it sooner: of course, Enjolras is ashamed of him. Of course, he doesn’t want the rest of their friends to find out about something that he’s most likely trying his best to end as swiftly as possible.

Grantaire takes a shallow breath, pulling the duvet up over his head. Once again, he feels the overwhelming urge to run, to leave Enjolras’s flat as quickly and unobtrusively as he can and save Enjolras the trouble of dealing with him. But for the moment, he’s trapped. Like a mortal lost in the fae realms, there’s nothing for him to do but bury himself deeper into the wrongness of it and wait.

He knows better. He’s always known better than this. He can’t believe –

“Sorry about that.” Enjolras is back; the door clicks shut softly behind him. After a moment, the bed dips again as he lays back down beside Grantaire. “Combeferre just wanted to check on the numbers from yesterday’s – what are you doing?” He sounds amused as he rolls over and Grantaire feels an arm wrap around him over the outside of the duvet that he’s all but buried himself in. He tenses. After a moment, it becomes clear that there’s nothing Grantaire can do but leave, so he slips out from under the covers and Enjolras’s arm as smoothly as he can, feeling exposed and raw in a way he hasn’t before in front of Enjolras, as the chill morning air hits his bare chest. 

He turns away, perches on the side of the bed, trying to kick his sluggish brain into gear. 

“I’m sorry if I made that awkward,” he says finally, knowing he has to keep up some semblance of normality.

Enjolras shifts behind him. “What?” he sounds genuinely confused, “No, of course you didn’t. Combeferre didn’t even realize you were here.”

“Good,” Grantaire replies. He starts to stand up, but before he can move, Enjolras grabs his arm, tugging gently until he’s forced to turn back to him.

“Is something wrong?” Enjolras asks, when Grantaire finally meets his eyes again. He looks genuinely confused and fuck, Grantaire hates this.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” Grantiare tries to remember where in the room he’s thrown his discarded jeans. “It’s just - I’m sorry about last night.” Enjolras frowns, a small line appearing between his eyebrows and that’s almost worse. “It won’t happen again,” Grantaire rushes to assure him, around a sudden tightness in his throat. 

It hurts him, it hurts so much to lose Enjolras after getting the smallest taste of what really having him in his life might feel like, but even these few weeks have been a joy born of selfishness that Grantaire knows he needs to let go. 

There’s no two ways around it, Enjolras deserves so much better. 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras suddenly looks almost as distressed as he feels. “You’re not…nothing happened last night that-“

“Oh god, no. Definitely not.” Grantaire bites back a laugh, bitter and humourless, at the suggestion. “Don’t worry about that. You are surprisingly perfect, in every definition of the word.” 

“Surprisingly?” Enjolras snaps back, clearly hurt, and Grantaire squeezes his eyes shut, takes a breath as he swallows any further retorts. Enjoras seems to have done the same, because he continues again in a calmer tone. “What’s wrong then, if it’s not that. What can I do?”

Grantaire blinks, realizes that his hands are shaking and clenches them in his lap, a fairly absurd gesture given that he’s still completely naked. 

“Please don’t make me say it,” he says finally, uselessly, silently begging Enjolras to spare his feelings just this once. 

“Say what?” And, as always, it’s Grantaire’s job to break his own heart. 

“That you don’t want this. That you’re ashamed of me, and believe me, I understand. Most of the time, I hate myself enough for both of us.” Now that he’s started, Grantiare doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop. “I don’t know why I ever thought this would work. Why you would want me in the -” 

But Grantaire does stop because Enjolras has taken his face in his hands and he’s kissing him like he’s never going to let go. Both of their faces are wet with tears that Grantaire hasn’t realized he’s been crying and Enjolras’s mouth is warm and his lips are slightly chapped and Grantaire curls his hands around both of Enjolras’s wrists and just holds on. 

When he finally pulls away, Enjolras barely puts any distance between them. He leans his head forward until his forehead rests against Grantaire’s and stares at him with that look again, the serious one that he uses for things he cares about. 

“I want you,” he says, fierce and gentle, his thumb brushes away a stray tear from Grantaire’s cheek. “I’ve wanted you for so long that sometimes I can’t believe it’s real.” 

“You what?” It’s the wrong thing to say, Grantaire knows, but thankfully Enjolras seems to understand because he smiles and presses a gentle kiss to the side of Grantaire’s mouth before he continues. 

“I’ve never been ashamed of you, ever. Believe me, i’d call Combeferre back in here right now if you wanted, I just thought, well.” 

“If you think Combeferre wouldn’t be lucky to get an eyeful of this,” Grantaire releases one of Enjolras’s wrists to indicate vaguely towards his bare chest. “Actually you’re right, he doesn’t deserve that.” 

Enjolras makes a small shushing noise and kisses him again, gently this time. 

“To be honest,” Enjolras says a moment later, as he eases his fingers through the curls at the base of Grantaire’s neck. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted this either. You seemed so, well, scared at the idea and I didn’t want to push.” 

“I’m such an idiot,” Grantaire mutters, more to himself than to Enjolras, and he feels Enjolras shake his head where they’re leaning against each other. His fingers are still carding gently through Grantaire’s hair and he leans into the touch. It’s an unexpected feeling, coming down from a huge surge of adrenaline to find that things weren’t quite as bad as he thought. 

Enjolras’s phone buzzes on the table beside the bed and he leans over to look at the screen, keeping one hand cupped around the back of Grantaire’s head like he’s afraid to fully let him go. It almost makes Grantaire smile. 

“It’s Combeferre,” Enjolras turns away from his phone and immediately pushes his forehead into the crook of Grantaire’s neck. “He wants to know if you’d like coffee.” 

“Of course he fucking does.” Grantaire surprises himself by not feeling horrified. Instead, as he wraps his arms around Enjolras and presses his nose into blond curls and laughs with him until they’re both breathless with it, he feels something like free.

**Author's Note:**

> Please come talk to me on [tumblr](https://williamvapespeare.tumblr.com) about these boys!


End file.
